ABSTRACT
I still own a long, curly, white wig, a majestic gold crown, and more costumes than any sensible woman over 30 could ever need. Yet despite a long-standing interest in all things Mexican and Day of the Dead, I do not own any flower-embossed skull figurines, and even though I am writing this chapter in October, I have no urge to purchase anything witch-inspired or vampire-themed. In my early childhood, dress-up time was fun time; but as of late, exposure to so very many stories of trauma has taken a real toll on my wardrobe.
